Desire
by Cutthroat Pixie
Summary: [HarryDraco] They hate each other, yet there is another something there as well. It as a feeling of notquitehateanddefinitelynotlove, and they never once stopped to find a word for it.


Title: Desire  
Pairing: HarryDraco  
Summary: They hate each other, yet there is another something there as well. It as a feeling of not-quite-hate-and-definitely-not-love, and they never once stopped to find a word for it.

* * *

They are selfish. They aren't together, if one can even really say that is what they are, because of some sort of mutual feeling for the other, because of some want to fulfill the wants, the needs, the desires of another person, but because they want to do so for themselves. You know how they say that a couple (which they aren't, not really) often shares the same emotions, at the same time, as if one feeds off the other's feelings? Not them. If Harry isn't happy, Draco is. Or maybe he isn't, it all depends on how he feels like feeling, and that is often unpredictable. If Draco isn't happy, Harry doesn't feel some sort of need to change anything. He doesn't try to find out what is wrong, he simply tells him to stop being a prat and get over it. The dynamics of their relationship were confusing, at best, but mostly just entirely fucked. Who wants to bother with someone they couldn't care less about?

But, they do care, somehow, on an unconscious level. They don't realise it, but that caring is there, even if it is highly strange and very much indescribable.

If Harry skips breakfast, Draco notices because he doesn't have somebody to cast his hateful glare upon. Well, he does, but he wants to glare at that stupid Potter kid. He can't, though, so it pisses him off more than it really should. He can't wait until they see one another again so that he can send Harry that glare he reserves only for him.

If Draco skips class, and something goes wrong, Harry has nobody to blame it on, and this might lead to him having to admit that it was his fault, not Malfoy's. That his potion blew up and burnt a nasty hole in the floor. Life is just so much easier when he has the luxury of finding some way to blame that snot-mouthed prick for his problems.

During the day, they often have some sort of battle. It is usually a verbal one. Draco makes a snide remark, which Harry finds to be lame, but infuriating at the same time, and Harry retorts with something equally venomous. Back and forth, back and forth, they go, each trying to think up a comment even ruder, even viler than the last. They never really got anywhere with these battles, as eventually one of them will get bored, or have to go somewhere, or be taken away by friends who are ever so sick of listening to the mindless bickering.

Sometimes, and this is a rare occurrence, they duke it out, first to fist, as boys often do. This isn't just a simple wrestling match, or even just two young men punching the shit out of each other, even though it may look like that to random passersby and onlookers. There is a sense of seduction in the way Harry pins Malfoy down on the ground, and something so erotic about the way Draco rolls himself back over and begins placing punches along Potter's torso. They aren't really punches, more half-jab, half-caress, but nobody seems to notice this, least of all Harry and Draco themselves, who are too busy trying to win to realise how sexual their fighting really is. It hurts, and both are left with the cuts, bruises, scrapes, and scars to show what they've done afterwards, but there is something so sinful about it that the physical pain is very much worth it.

More often than not, wands will get thrown into the mix. Even dueling in this sense is tainted, not so much in the actions it involves, but in the looks each boy casts the other. A smug sense of pride will fill Harry's face as he knocks Malfoy to the ground, and his face will reflect not only this, but that hidden pleasure that he always feels whenever he is in close contact with the blond boy. Draco notices this look, and he sends Potter one of his own, capturing him in his gaze just long enough to catch him off guard and cast a nasty little spell of his own. After the two are torn apart by angry teachers, both walk away, not really knowing who won, but thinking they themselves had. Neither could ever admit defeat, as that took the fun out of everything.

At night, everything is twisted, distorted, and very much different, yet very much the same, as it is during the day. The glaring and blaming from earlier is still there, but it is altered. The glare is filled with a tinge of lust, and the blame Harry places on Draco for every little thing that goes wrong just doesn't seem to have the same bravado behind the statements. Where Draco would normally argue that, no, it wasn't his fault Potter was such an ass that he couldn't do his own class work correctly; he simply remains silent about it, not really putting up a fight at all. He is far too occupied with other things, other thoughts, to really give a damn about what Harry was saying. The energy used during the day to keep up with their rivalry flows into a different source in the dark of night.

No longer do they battle with wand, word, and fist, but with lips, tongue, and fingers that ghost over skin, doing obscene things to the other body that is agonizingly close. Legs wrap around non-existent hips, pulling their bodies closer. Hands glide over a sweat covered chest, sliding upwards to entangle themselves in a mess of dark hair, sliding downwards to further drive that sense of arousal into the other's mind. Kisses are crushing, never sweet, and they often bring forth blood as swollen lips get trapped between angry teeth. Limbs wrap up together in a seemingly perfect way, but they never succumb to that silly cliché of becoming one. Whoever thought that up obviously had lovers in mind, and they are definitely not lovers.

They are _something_, though, but it is really hard to tell, as the emotions they feel for one another really make no sense. They hate each other, yet there is another something there as well. It as a feeling of not-quite-hate-and-definitely-not-love, and they never once stopped to find a word for it. Even simple lust didn't seem to work, because there was something _else_. Their relationship was nondescript: Rivals by day, and not-really lovers by night.

When it really came down to it, though, they are just two confused boys who never really understood why they continued on with one another the way they did. It works for them, though, and that is really all that matters.


End file.
